Love and Other Complexities
by Ely Georgieva
Summary: Elizabeth Keen comes to terms with her love for Raymond Reddington after her dramatic exoneration in 3x10 The Director: Conclusion. Turns out, their tender feelings for one another simplify nothing.


Author's Note: Many thanks to my beta, Meaghan M (Juulna).

I.

Human nature could be fickle, but that was not what this was. Reddington's all-consuming warmth toward her had always been the soothing exception to every cruel rule of life. She was resolved to employ every excuse at her disposal to explain his sudden detachment. But after three months on the run, the possibility of him feeling worn out and tired of her seemed realistic in ways that made her chest constrict and ache. Perhaps he was having a well-deserved break from stitching up the sorry patchwork of her life. An inopportune timing, truth be told. Because it was just now that she was coming to terms with her own warmth toward him.

Not one to abandon rationality too quickly, Elizabeth had tried to justify her odd tenderness with all the reasonable explanations her mind could source whilst on the run. With the helpful nudge of wishful thinking, she had concluded that same warmth, the one that was burning her, was nothing more than an infatuation - silly and foolish, spurred on by their constant companionship and the natural desire for sex.

Trouble was, Reddington had a way of, sometimes unknowingly, proving her wrong when she needed nothing more than to be right. He did it again one sunny afternoon inside an admittedly delightful RV he had arranged for the two of them. He had pulled over in a safely deserted area, insisting they needed rest. _"Lay down,"_ he'd told her, pointing to the only couch the trailer had to offer. _"I'll be perfectly comfortable right here,"_ he reassured her and pointed at the end of the bed where her legs would be. _Like the gentle, faithful dog, wanting nothing more than physical closeness. Even the Master's feet would do,_ she remembered thinking. He was so sure, so ready to be near her.

She knew he meant it. She curled up on the couch, allowing her selfishness to take up all the space and letting him be altruistic, like he always was. Both of them were comfortable in their organic elements, giving in to their nature.

"Don't bend your legs like that, Lizzy. Give them here," he instructed, and took hold of her ankles. He straightened them and placed them on his lap as he sat down at the bottom of the modest couch.

It was then, in the midst of this non-sexual act of pure, selfless kindness, that she knew the persistent electricity he evoked within her was charged by forces that were anything but simply primal. Her sexual desire for him was a result of a true, dangerous attraction. And it couldn't be put to rest, not when Reddington nourished her so diligently, without even knowing that he was. He was not aware of her quiet suffering and tortured lovesick thoughts. He was treating her with love and kindness, the only way he knew how. She couldn't accuse him of being the him he always had been. Frustratingly, she could not afford to unleash her wrath because his thorough questions would have been sure to follow. And her secret would've given itself to him willingly. Being loved came with temptations, no?

The sentence had been pronounced. She loved him.

Sentences were not punishments. The punishment was constituted in the sentence. Being in love with Red offered an array of ways to pay. She was surprisingly patient and seemed resolved to endure it all. She recognized that she was starting to think like a woman in love. A needy one, at times. She was resolved to, at the very least, not act upon her new urges. She was growing an alien inside her; that was how she often thought of her tenderness for him. An alien that had the potential to make her act stupidly, recklessly. That, she was resolved to never allow.

So when he informed her, somewhat unkindly, that the horror she'd survived was nothing more than his routine, Liz did her best to conceal her growing heartache. _Why was he not trying to comfort and reassure her, like he always did?_ It was the very first, thoroughly selfish thought that alarmed her straight away. Perhaps she was at fault, spoiled by his tenderness. She realized she had never anticipated for his devotion to end or exhaust itself.

"Wouldn't you like to sit back and, I don't know, rest?" she tried hard, very hard, to sound casual.

"Our job doesn't come with an abundance of holiday opportunities, Lizzy. It's what we do," he lectured her. And she would've given him hell, hot and deadly, for his attempts at schooling her. She told herself it was her wishful thinking that prevented her from doing it. She hoped his renewed fervor to work as a team stemmed from something else entirely. She could hope.

"I'm here to stay. Even without the cases you have for me," she said. "I hope you know that." He nodded once. She'd understood him and he'd returned the favor. "So, you were talking about the case."

II.

At the end of that exhausting day, he'd reeled her into the secretive realm of his apartment with promises of sublime liquor and an unmatched collection of rare vinyl. He made good on both promises, of course.

His demanding cat had made itself impeccably comfortable on her lap, preventing her from moving from that splendid, comforting sofa. Reddington told her about the rescue mission that had brought the feline to his forever home and, like with most of his stories, she had needed a considerable amount of time to wrap her mind around the incredulous things she was hearing. Not one of Red's faithful companions had entered his life peacefully. He was surrounded by previously lost souls who'd found peace in loving him.

* * *

Her gaze followed him on his wobbly journey to retrieving more alcohol when she noticed it. The photograph of her, happily nestled in her mother's lap on a swing, was gone. She didn't consider the possibility of it being situated elsewhere. It was gone. For a moment, she considered asking him if he was done with loving her. She thought of asking him that question before he'd had a chance to sit on his sofa, comfortingly close to her.

Then, she changed her mind.

"Where's that photograph of me and Katerina?" she questioned.

"Gone," he confirmed, and sat next to her clumsily, without spilling a drop of scotch. Gracefulness was gone. Truth was there to stay.

"Why?" There, she asked. The brave, brave soul that she was.

"Because you're no longer four, Elizabeth. And I'd rather look at you at thirty-one." He didn't look at her, not once. But he did finish off his scotch in a single, swift go. He was an even braver soul.

"Good," she told him, focusing her tired eyes on the soft fur of that demanding, lazy cat. _His_ cat.

Hope was there to stay. Indefinitely.


End file.
